Of Good Carriage
by Pargoletta
Summary: After a long, hard labor, Donatella Rinuccini finally has someone to love.  A Caroverse story.  Warning:  Contains spousal cruelty and child abuse.


Note: Welcome to this story. I wrote it for the second iteration of Wizefics's Candy Hearts Challenge on LJ. The prompt this time was "My Love."

A couple of notes here. A _guardadonna_ was a Renaissance birth attendant whose function was to support and help the laboring mother, while the midwife worked on getting the baby born. Interestingly, we've resurrected this position in the contemporary world. Today, we call her a doula.

Saint Aquilino of Fossombrone was a martyr. His memorial day, shared with all the rest of the martyrs of Fossombrone, is February 4, which is the date upon which this story takes place.

Mistress Tessa's book is a real one, written by the fifteenth-century physician Dr. Michele Savonarola. It's called _Ad mulieres ferrarienses de regimine pregnantium et noviter natorum usque ad septennium_, a long title that translates to _To Ferrara Women on Care During Pregnancy and of Newborns to their Seventh Year_. According to Rudolph Bell, it was fairly popular in Northern Italy for at least a century. It might well have been the only book that Mistress Tessa owned, and the sole reason that she might know how to read a little.

So, enjoy the story. See you at the end.

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**Of Good Carriage

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**

Donatella Rinuccini's groan, forced out through gritted teeth, turned into a full-throated scream with the force of her push. The effort lasted for a small eternity, compounding the pressure and the fire that burned deep in her quim. And then it was over. Donatella flopped back on the pillows stacked behind her and sucked in a deep breath as Lidia, her _guardadonna_, mopped her sweaty brow.

"Prithee, Mistress Tessa, how much longer must I endure this torment?" Donatella asked the midwife.

"You are nearly at an end, my lady," came the cheerful voice of the midwife.

"Perhaps I am nearly at an end, but what of my travail?"

"Soon you will forget this pain," Lidia put in. "Soon, you will have a beautiful son to hold in your arms and show your husband."

"Ay, a fine boy," Mistress Tessa said. "A little more work, and then you will have your longed-for son."

Donatella did not respond to that. It was true that she most heartily desired a son to show her husband, as most women did, but she suspected that her desire ran deeper than most. For a moment, she allowed her thoughts to stray to her first pregnancy, miscarried when Giacomo had sent her tumbling down a great flight of stairs. A physician had been called to remove the little corpse with tongs while Donatella lay in a stupor, and she had never learned if it had been the girl that Giacomo had feared or not. She hoped with all her soul that this child would be a boy.

Her belly tightened again, and this time, Donatella did not need the midwife's exhortations. She took a deep breath and pushed as hard as she could, desperate to reach the end of her labor.

"Here is the head!" Mistress Tessa cried. "Rosa, fetch me a clean cloth!" The midwife's apprentice snatched a towel from a stack that lay on a small table, and Mistress Tessa fussed at something that Donatella could not see. Lidia wiped Donatella's brow again and put an arm around her shoulders.

"One more push, my lady," she said. "The end is nigh."

"Beware," Mistress Tessa said. "The trick is upon us. Be subtle in your efforts this time."

Donatella pushed again, and something slithered out from between her legs, leaving a great emptiness behind. With a groan, she collapsed back against Lidia, who embraced her firmly and eased her onto the cushions. For a moment, nothing mattered to Donatella save the comfort of those cushions. She was vaguely aware of Lidia applying a cool, wet cloth to her face, and she raised her head a little. She could look down between her legs now, though her belly was not yet flat.

Something slimy, purple, and wet wriggled in Mistress Tessa's hands. There was a grinding squeak, as if an ancient mouse were recalling its voice, and then a thin wail, accompanied by a scandalized shriek from Rosa.

"Mistress Tessa! Your hand!"

Mistress Tessa laughed. "Oh, cease thy quailing, Rosa. It is hardly the first time that a babe has pissed from the shock of its first breath of air. Come, look thou to the lady. Press hard, as I have taught thee."

Lidia helped Donatella sit up again, and Rosa gingerly massaged her belly with one hand while tugging at the baby's cord with the other. Another contraction, a faint echo of the previous effort, rippled through Donatella, and the afterbirth slid free of her, warm and soft. Donatella wilted again, and allowed Lidia to sponge her with warm, herb-scented water. "What is the babe?" she murmured.

"You will have your child in your arms soon enough, my lady," Lidia said in a soothing tone.

"What is it?" Donatella repeated, more forcefully this time. "I must know!"

She could see Mistress Tessa bathing the infant in a basin. The midwife held the child in a firm but gentle grip, but Donatella could see little beyond the baby's head and arms. "What is it?" she cried again. "Have I a son? Have I my son?"

Rosa hurried to her side, and she and Lidia pushed Donatella back among the pillows. "Hush," Lidia said, tucking a blanket around Donatella. "You will receive your child, my lady. Be patient."

Donatella could have wept with fear and frustration. Not a moment too soon, Mistress Tessa lifted the child from the bath, patted it dry, and wrapped it in a blanket. She approached the bed and laid the bundle in Donatella's waiting arms.

"See your son, Lady Rinuccini," Mistress Tessa said. "He is a fine, strong boy. You have done your family proud this day."

Donatella received the baby and quickly opened the swaddling blanket. Mistress Tessa had told the truth. The little boy wiggled in her arms, waving four perfect limbs containing ten fingers and ten toes. Mindful of the early February cold, Donatella wrapped him up again and held him close. He squinted at her with bright eyes, and she wondered if he knew that she was his mother, though the experience of giving birth had been so profound that even she was not yet entirely sure of that.

The midwives and Lidia cooed and fussed, but Donatella ignored them, intrigued by the baby she held. She recalled visiting her sister-in-law Niccola shortly after the birth of Niccola's son Paris, and being delighted by the rapt adoration she had seen radiating from Niccola. But, looking at her own son, Donatella realized with some disappointment that she was not glowing with the same adoration. She could barely muster any feeling at all, save only weariness and vague curiosity.

Fortunately, the baby did not seem to notice. He pushed at her chest, and Donatella wondered what she was meant to do. Giacomo had told her that he was seeking a wet nurse, but Donatella did not know whether or not he had found one. After a few moments, the baby stopped pushing. He did not seem desperately hungry, so Donatella decided to let the question of feeding go unanswered for a while longer.

The door opened, and Donatella flinched at the sound of boots. Giacomo Rinuccini strode into the bedchamber, tall and calm, the waxed tips of his mustache barely twitching. He was impeccably dressed, and Donatella was ashamed of her sweaty chemise and disheveled hair. She started to glance away, but recalled just in time that she held the prize he had so fervently desired. Unable to control a slight tremor, she raised her eyes to her husband and unwrapped their son.

Giacomo smiled broadly, revealing a mouth full of white teeth. "A son," he said, his voice smooth and dripping with satisfied honey. "I have a son." Swiftly, his hands came toward her. Donatella shrank away, but Giacomo ignored her, gathering up the baby and his blanket in one ungainly scoop.

Startled at the rough handling, the baby let out a squawk of protest. Mistress Tessa hurried to Giacomo's side and adjusted the baby so that he was supported in the crook of his father's arm.

"Many gentlemen must be taught to handle infants," Mistress Tessa remarked, to no one in particular.

Giacomo ignored the midwife. He inspected the baby thoroughly, with a critical eye, counting fingers and toes as Donatella had done. He ran his hand over each of the baby's limbs, and then pinched his leg. The baby promptly began to cry, and Giacomo smiled.

"His cry is strong, he has good wind," he said.

An uncomfortable tendril began to uncoil in Donatella's stomach, and she wrapped her arms around her body.

"His eyes shine like quicksilver," Giacomo went on. "Remarkable. I had thought to call him Aquilino after the martyr of Fossombrone, but those eyes intrigue me. Perhaps I shall call him Mercutio instead."

The baby continued to cry in his father's grip. Donatella's stomach lurched again, and she held out her arms. "Give him to me, I pray. He hungers."

"Then I shall bring him to the wet nurse." Giacomo turned away.

"No," Donatella said, surprised by her own soft voice.

"What?" Giacomo turned back.

Donatella swallowed her fear and raised her eyes to meet Giacomo's. "I will suckle him myself," she said, her voice only quavering a little.

Giacomo stared at her for a moment, then snorted out a laugh. "Suckle him thyself? And thou the noblest lady of this city! No less than the sister of the Prince! To suckle an infant as though thou wert a pig in a sty?"

"I am his mother."

"Thou art my wife." Giacomo moved to stand at the side of the bed, forcing Donatella to tilt her head back to look up at him. "Do not forget the debt that thou dost owe, that every woman owes her lord. Too long have I spent my coin on whores while thy belly was swollen."

Donatella looked away, so that her eyes would not betray her memory of the relief she had felt when her maid had informed her of Giacomo's night-time strolls through the stews. For a moment, she wished that she were still pregnant. But her eyes fell on a small painting hanging near the bed, which Mistress Tessa had brought with her for luck, and inspiration filled her. She reached for it, and Lidia quickly laid it in her hand. She held it up for Giacomo's inspection.

"The most holy Mother of all did suckle her Child from her own bosom," Donatella said. "Why may I not do likewise? In this, I should emulate she whom women take as their model in all aspects of life."

Giacomo squinted at the painting, but spoke no word. His eyes flickered between the image and the living woman in the bed, but his expression remained set and hard. After a tense moment, Mistress Tessa gave a delicate cough.

"A thousand pardons, Signior, my lady," she said, and offered up a little book that she had pulled from her bag. "But perhaps a word from the good physician of Ferrara may aid in your decision?"

Giacomo glanced at the book in her hand. "How camest thou to possess a volume by Savonarola?" he asked, and his voice held genuine curiosity as well as hostility.

Mistress Tessa did not flinch. "I had it from my mother, sir, and she from hers. I learned my letters as a girl so that I could read the words of the learned physicians and better my craft."

"And what does the learned doctor tell thee?"

"He would side with my lady, and tell her to keep the Virgin Mother before her eyes, as she would do, to nourish her child from her own body, that both may live to see longer years."

Giacomo hesitated. "I have already hired a wet nurse. Has thy learned doctor thought of that?"

"Ay, sir, he has." Mistress Tessa flipped through the book until she found the correct page. "He allows the use of a servant to aid in caring for the child, but he would see the mother suckle."

Giacomo read the page quietly, then read a few pages before and after. "And thou?" he asked. "I hired thee because thou hast attended many births. What do thy sharp eyes tell thee of Savonarola's words?"

"I have ushered many children into the world, and I have known mothers who suckled and mothers who gave their children to wet nurses. The children of mothers who suckled grew stronger than the ones who were given to a stranger."

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Even the baby had stopped crying. Giacomo looked around the room, taking in his son, Savonarola's book, his wife, and the little image of the Virgin that she held. At last, he gave a great sigh. He pushed Mistress Tessa aside, pulled the painting from Donatella's hands, and placed the baby back in her arms.

"Go thy ways, wench," he said. "I shall spend my gold on my son's account." He snapped his fingers at Mistress Tessa, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The baby - Mercutio, Donatella supposed, though she had rather liked Aquilino - started at the loud noise, and began to cry again. The sound broke the spell in the room, and Lidia and Mistress Tessa hurried to Donatella's side. Lidia unlaced Donatella's gown, and Mistress Tessa showed her how to guide Mercutio's mouth to her breast. The new sensation distracted Mercutio from his cries, and within a few moments, he was suckling eagerly.

"Ah, what a lovely sight!" Rosa cooed. "The babe knows his mother well, for it is a renewal of the earlier bond."

"Hush," Mistress Tessa said, but Donatella paid her women no more attention.

The tendril in Donatella's stomach had fully unfurled itself, and had blossomed into a rush of warmth. There had been pain, not so long ago, but the pain was no longer important. Donatella reclined against the pillows, cocooned in warm comfort, with the warm sucking weight of her child adding bright pleasure to the chill of the February evening. She shivered all over, as if someone had poured a jar of perfectly warmed and scented water over her. It took her a moment before she realized what had happened.

Donatella Rinuccini looked down at Mercutio and knew that she had fallen in love. With some shock, she realized that the tiny, red, helpless child in her arms could command her to do anything with a look, and she would do it. She would defy her husband and bear whatever beatings would result, only for the sake of keeping Mercutio safe from harm. All for the sake of the trusting, warm weight of him, and the clasp of his miniature hand around her finger. She kissed the hand and stroked his downy fluff of hair.

"Mercutio, my love," she murmured, softly, for his ears alone. "I am thy mother, and thou hast my heart. With all that I am, I shall love thee and shield thee from harm."

Donatella did not notice when Mistress Tessa ushered Lidia and Rosa out of the room to leave her alone with Mercutio.

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END

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Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Many thanks to Wizefics for her Candy Hearts Challenge. A happy Chocolate Appreciation Day to all!


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